Rest and Recovery
by Smeghead
Summary: Summary: Sequel to 'Consequences of Failure'. The Scoobies must heal the emotional wounds following the Graduation Massacre, while the government of the US must come to terms with the supernatural.


**_Rest and Recovery_**

**_Author: Robert Cox smeghead_76[at]dodo.com.au_**

**_Rating: M-15+ (Australian system) for violence, language, and other fun stuff_**

**_Disclaimer: Buffy does not belong to me. The winged crack monkeys at ME are the ones responsible for everything that's happened to her. Please don't sue._**

**_Summary: Sequel to 'Consequences of Failure' (due to popular demand). The Scoobies must heal the emotional wounds following the Graduation Massacre, while the government of the US must come to terms with the supernatural._**

**_Pairings: Oz/Willow_**

**_Feedback: To borrow a line from 'Little Shop of Horrors'... "FEED ME, Seymour!"_**

**_AN: Arrgh! Plot... Bunnies... everywhere... Somebody make them go away!_**

**_****_**

**_Miramar Naval Air Station_**

Willow and Oz were walking hand-in-hand through the Visiting Officers Quarters, heading for the beach. Since their arrival at the combined Marine/Navy base yesterday, they'd been pretty much left to themselves, although the base's psychiartrist, along with all three of the base chaplains - a Catholic priest, a rabbi and an imam - had found time to speak to them briefly while they were being assigned quarters and issued clothing from the Post Exchange - basically, a supermarket on the base - to replace what they'd lost yesterday.

Of course, nothing could replace the friends and family they'd lost.

As it turned out, only Buffy's mother - out of all of the Scoobies' parents - had survived the day. Oz's parents, along with Willow's had died at Sunnydale High, while Xander's had been killed when his house had been crushed by the rampaging mayor-demon, when they had been both passed out, drunk, in the living room.

Of course, Oz's and Willow's parents were still officially listed as 'missing'. The military cordon around Sunnydale was still being thickened up with newly arrived units from Fort Hood in Texas, and Fort Benning in Georgia. As of yet, no ground troops had entered the town, with Kiowa scout helicopters, along with Predator recon drones being the only units to actually go into - or, more accurately, *over* - the rubble of Sunnydale.

But Oz and Willow weren't being optimistic, and the strain of not knowing was yet another burden on hearts already close to the breaking point.

As they passed the last line of buildings, they heard someone call out, "Daniel! Willow! Wait a moment, and I'll join you!" Turning around, they saw Father James Morrison waving to them from a window - obviously his quarters - and they paused to allow the middle-aged man to make whatever preparations he required.

"Good morning, Father Morrison," Willow said when he joined them.

"Morning, Father," Oz echoed.

"Please," James protested. "Call me Jim." He ran a hand through his greying hair. "Don't let this - and these-" he brushed his collar where his rank insignia - a major's oak leaves - and the cross that marked his profession would normally reside, "-fool you. The rank is just a way to let me fit in somewhere in the military hierarchy, and as for the other... right now, I'm not being a man of God, just a man who is concerned about the welfare of two young people who are bearing heavier burdens than anyone should - at any age."

The sincerity in his voice managed to get a tentative half-smile from Willow, and while Oz kept his normal poker-face, the corners of his lips twitched upward.

"Good morning, Jim," Willow said, which caused James to beam approvingly.

"See? That wasn't that hard now, was it?" Then his grin vanished, to be replaced with a more concerned expression. "How did the two of you sleep last night?"

"Badly," Willow said sadly. "I kept seeing their faces... my parents..." her voice stumbled to a halt as she fought back tears. Oz nodded his agreement, his expression blank-shading-to-sad.

James put a hand on both of their shoulders. "I won't beat around the bush here. I'm afraid that the nightmares will continue for quite some time, but you - both of you - are lucky in that you can turn to each other for support in this time of personal crisis," he said gently.

Willow had one point of concern. "What about... y'know... all of that pre-marital stuff?" she asked hesitantly.

"I must have missed that day at the seminary," James replied. "You see, I have this silly idea that what two consenting young adults get up to is their own business and nobody else's," he said lightly, which again won sort-of half-smiles from both Willow and Oz.

"However," he said, his tone gentle once more, "if you want to talk - at _any_ time - about anything, please feel free to give me a call or drop by the chapel. If I'm not there, you can talk to Rabbi Berkowitz, who will probably insist that you call him 'Samuel', or 'Sam'. Just don't challenge him to a game of chess - you won't know what hit you," James added.

"Thank you, Jim," Willow said. "But if you don't mind me asking, how..." Her voice trailed off as she tried to find a way to voice the question she had in mind without insulting the genial priest.

"Do I know all this stuff?" James completed the question, not bothered in the slightest. "Well, trauma counselling _is_ part of the training I received for this job, which is not surprising given the risks they take on a daily basis." His expressive gesture took in the whole of the base. "During the Gulf War, I was in the Perisan Gulf, talking to pilots whose friends were shot down over Iraq or had suffered accidents. Even without a war on, aviation - especially carrier aviation - is still a risky business," he said.

"It's alright, Fath- Jim," Willow corrected herself. "I wasn't questioning your abilities. I was just..." she trailed off again.

"Worried about your friends," James once again filled in the blanks. "I understand completely. Speaking of which, how _are_ your young friends?"

"Worse off than us," Oz said bluntly, and with his trademark succinctness.

"They were in the room next to us," Willow added. "We heard both of them waking up screaming and crying. In the end, we all spent the night in the same room and even then, they didn't sleep well."

"Dear Lord," James muttered. "Rupert tells me that Xander is suffering from self-imposed guilt because he feels responsible for all the deaths yesterday, and Buffy is grieving because the man she loved sacrificed himself to allow her and Xander to escape," he continued in a normal tone of voice.

"That's right, Jim," Willow said. "In fact, we're going to meet them on the beach to talk to them. As it stands, Buffy's labouring under the double burden of grieving for Angel and trying to help Xander." Seeing James' puzzled expression, Willow clarified her last statement. "Ever since we met Buffy three years ago, Xander's always been there for her whenever she needed a shoulder to cry on. She thinks that she has to repay the help he's given her by helping him now."

"Why would she do that?"

"Well, she's always had a bit of a 'world-on-her-shoulders' feeling," Willow explained.

"Ah, that explains a lot," James said, as realisation dawned. "Particularly with her being the Slayer, as well."

Amazement blossomed on Willow's face, with a more subdued version following suit on Oz's face. "How did you know that?" she asked.

"Rupert told me that as well," James explained. "He thought it would let me help better if I knew all of the facts. Personally, I find the idea of young women - girls, really! - fighting by themselves to hold back the forces of evil to be quite abominable. And as for this 'Cruciamentum' travesty..." He shook his head, unable to express his disgust.

"Willow, Daniel," he continued in a gentle tone of voice. "Yes, there are people who would go into hysterics if they knew about the preternarual things you have faced, but there would be more who would step up to take their place alongside you, if they knew. In fact, I consider myself to be one of the second group. I may not be in the front lines of that struggle, but those who support the people who risk their lives in combat have a part to play as well, important parts, to be exact, and their contributions should not go unnoticed."

Even Oz's composure wasn't immune to that, and a host of expressions crossed both teens' faces as they realised that James was describing the roles that they - along with Xander - had filled over the years. Along with that realisation came the knowledge that, at times, their support had been crucial to Buffy's survival, and as a result, the survival of the human species.

That knowledge didn't take away the pain they were feeling, of course, but it did serve to dull the edges... a little.

James draped an arm around the teens' shoulders and gently guided them in the direction of the beach. "Now let's see what we can do to help your friends in their time of need."

He concealed his feelings of satisfaction as the two teenagers followed his lead. By helping their friends, they were helping themselves... and it was best if they didn't know that that was happening.

**_****_**

On the beach, the two people who were the subject of the discussion between James, Willow and Oz were staring bleakly at the sea as it lapped the beach, sitting close together to draw whatever comfort they could draw from the other's presence.

If the expressions on their faces was anything to go by, it wasn't a lot.

Both wore drawn and haggard expression, testament to the fact that they'd slept poorly the night before and the bleakness of their gazes as they stared at the see without really seeing it bore silent witness to the fact that they were fighting internal demons - which Slayer strength was powerless to deal with.

_"Deadboy, why are you and Buffy still here? I thought I made it clear that you should GO!"_

_"Not without you, Angel."_

_"I... can't. Xander was right when he said that someone had to stay back to buy time. You can't, and I've got a better chance of holding them off longer than Xander does."_

_Angel charging into the mass of vampires, staking vampire after vampire, while all she could do was get Xander to safety. Feeling her heart shatter into a thousand pieces when the vampires howled in victory, knowing that her Angel was... gone._

Xander's voice interrupted her reverie. "How can you stand it, Buffy? How can you stand even being _near_ me?" Xander's voice was a lifeless parody of what it once was. "For that matter, how can Willow and Oz even look at me?"

"What do you mean, Xander?" Buffy had a good idea of what he meant, but she wanted to hear him talk. If he was talking, then he wasn't bottling everything up... and Buffy had lost enough as it was, and didn't want to add Xander to that black list.

"I got Angel killed! Because of me, their parents died! Because of _me_, thousands of people died!" Xander wailed, as tears began to stream down his face. "They all died because I didn't think 'the Plan' through properly!" His voice was laden with scorn as he said 'the Plan', and it was all self-directed.

Buffy's throat constricted as she began to shed her own tears. Unable to speak, she simply wrapped her arms around Xander, who just sat there, limp and unresponsive.

"Oh, no, Xander... it wasn't your fault," a voice said from behind Xander, laden with sorrow and grief. Buffy looked over Xander's shoulder to see Willow running up to the pair and hug Xander from behind. Following her were Oz and an older man, who she vaguely remembered introducing himself yesterday as Father James Morrison. He'd been in full uniform then, with the cross that identified him as a member of the Chaplain Corps, along with the gold oak leaves that identified his rank as being a Major.

_The middle-aged man was moving down the line of survivors from Sunnydale, along with two other men whose insignia identified them as a rabbi and a Muslim cleric - a Star of David and a crescent, respectively - offering a few quiet words, and supportive embraces when required. Just then, he reached her, placed his hands on her shoulders and said quietly, "I am given to understand that you saved a lot of lives today, young lady, showing great courage and strength in the process. Everyone I and my colleagues have spoken to has had nothing but the greatest respect for you."_

She had started sobbing again, and only the priest's supporting embrace stopped her from crumpling in a heap. "But so many people died_ today!" she sobbed._

"You did all that could be expected of you," he said gently. "You shouldn't think only of those that lost their lives on this terrible day. Instead you should think of those who now have a chance to live because of the actions of you and your friends."

She looked into his face, seeing only great sincerity. "R-really?" she stammered, to which the priest nodded. "Oh, my God_! Angel!" she sobbed again, the tears flowing with greater force._

"Angel?" the priest enquired.

"My boyfriend," she said between sobs. "He... stayed, to give me time to escape, along with another friend."

"In the words of Jesus, as written in the Good Book, 'Greater love hath no man, than he who lays down his life for another.'," the priest said, still with that gentle tone of voice that took some of the worst edges off her shattered emotions. "He loved - and probably still loves - you greatly, and he gave himself up willingly, a gift beyond measure, so that you could live."

"That's the last thing he said to me before he... wasn't there," she said, still crying, but with the convulsive sobs somewhat under control now. He said, 'Live your life to the fullest, and live it well'. How_?" she wailed, losing control once more. "How can I live, knowing that so many people died today?"_

The priest tightened his embrace as her knees threatened to give way again. "I won't insult you by pretending to know the answer to that question. That is knowledge you must come to yourself. But I am more than willing to help you in your search. Although it would help if I knew your name," he said.

"Buffy... Buffy Summers," she gasped, trying to catch her breath after her last outburst of sobbing.

"Well, Buffy, I'm Jim Morrison, and if you want to talk, at any time, day or night, you just get in touch with me, all right?"

"Yes, Father," Buffy sniffed.

"Please - call me Jim."

"Yes, Jim."

Now he was wearing clothes more suitable for a visit to the beach - shorts and T-shirt, with sandals and a large towel completing the outfit. "Good morning Buffy, Xander," he said genially, as he spread his towel next to Xander and sat down on it.

"Hi, Father... Jim," she said, correcting herself when the priest held up a correcting finger. Xander, still lost in his private hell, didn't respond other than with a brief mumble. Buffy thought she heard something along the lines of, "...so good about it...", but that was solely due to her Slayer-enhanced hearing. Jim didn't have that advantage, but he seemed to be pretty shrewd, and the expression of concern on his face as he glanced at Xander clearly showed that he had a fairly good idea of the general content of Xander's response.

"Willow and Daniel tell me that you two had an even worse night than them last night," Jim commented, getting straight to the point.

Buffy nodded, her expression becoming more miserable as she remembered the nightmares that had sent her jack-knifing straight up into a sitting position, screaming and sobbing as her imagination replayed every death that she'd seen - in often gruesome detail, with Angel's death, as seen by her mind's eye, taking centre stage. Xander had obviously gone through something similar, as beside her, he had done pretty much the same thing.

Although the quarters they had been assigned were technically for married officers, Buffy had asked that she and Xander be billeted in the same room, partly because she didn't want to be alone, and partly because she _certainly_ didn't want Xander to be alone, as Oz and Willow were going to share the room next to her. She hadn't seen the officer in charge of assigning accommodation flick a glance over her shoulder to where Jim and Giles were speaking quietly behind her, and receive nods from both of them before handing her a set of keys.

Getting... intimate... had certainly been absolutely _last_ thing on her mind. In fact, there were so many things on her mind that... intimacy... hadn't even entered her mind. After their nightmares had woken them, screaming, they'd ended up clutching each other convulsively, sobbing, in the manner that a drowning person would grab a lifeline. As a matter of fact, that was pretty close to the truth.

After all, they'd supported each other for the past three years, so it was only natural for it to happen now.

Through the adjoining wall, her Slayer-enhanced hearing had been able to pick up the sound of Willow sobbing softly, with Oz speaking softly, although - and this would have been a surprise to anyone who didn't know him well - his voice had contained unshed tears as well. The only words she'd been able to pick up clearly had been, "Buffy and Xander need us now..."

The fact that Oz - and probably Willow, too - were willing to put aside their own grief in order to provide support for the blonde Slayer - yet again - was enough to set her to sobbing yet again. _What did I do to deserve friends like this?_ she thought, but didn't say it out loud, because Xander was certainly in no condition to respond.

Just then, there had been a quiet knock on the door. "Come in," Buffy called, just loud enough to allow Oz and Willow to hear. When they came in, they hadn't wasted time with "How are you?", or anything similar.

Willow had moved to Xander's side and tapped him gently on the shoulder. Still sobbing convulsively, he'd hurled his arms around Willow and seized her in a hug tight enough that, under normal conditions, would have had her squeaking something about her need for oxygen. Instead, she'd simply returned the hug, all the while making wordless noises that were intended to sooth him.

Irrationally, Buffy felt a slight pang of jealousy - _Who's going to do that for me?_ - and had been surprised when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she saw Oz, his expression showing nothing heartfelt sympathy. Without thinking, she'd hurled herself into his arms, sobbing into his chest as he hugged her silently.

They'd remained like that for the next hour or so, as the embraces became a four-way group hug, with each participant sobbing uncontrollably - even Oz, although his version of 'sobbing uncontrollably' was more restrained than the others' - and desperately trying to draw what comfort they could from each others' presence.

When they finally broke the group hug, they didn't want to leave, instead electing to sleep four to the double bed in Buffy and Xander's room, packed in together to try to gain what comfort they could from each other's presences.

"That's true, Jim," Buffy said slowly. "But-" She stopped short, unable to find words for what she wanted to say.

Jim seemed to read her mind. "Willow and Daniel gave me a brief rundown on what happened last night, Buffy," he said gently. "And I'm glad that you are able to help each other in dealing with what has happened to you all. But," he added, "there will come times when you need to reach out to seek help. When that happens, I - along with your mother, Buffy - will be more than willing to provide whatever help you need."

Buffy felt a twin surge of guilt run through her. The first was due to the fact that she still _had_ a mother to turn to, when all of her friends had been so abruptly and unfairly orphaned. The second was that she'd been too wrapped up in her own hurt - and that of Xander - to be concerned for the state of her mother's health.

"My mom," Buffy said, fighting for self-control. "Is she..."

"Your mother is fine," Jim said, still in that same gentle tone of voice. "I spoke with her earlier today, and she'll be released from the base hospital-"

"Hospital?" Buffy gasped, as her guilt doubled. Her mother had been _injured_, and she didn't even _know_? "How badly hurt..." Her voice trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

Jim reached out and grasped her hand gently. "She's fine, Buffy," he said. "Only cuts and bruises, although a couple of the cuts required stitches. The only reason she spent the night in the hospital was as a precaution. When I left, Rupert was keeping her company." He deliberately left it at that, not wanting to say that the main cause of Joyce Summers' worry had been Buffy and Xander, especially for their emotional states.

"I still have to see her," Buffy said softly. "Not that I don't trust you, Jim, but I need to see her myself."

"Of course, Buffy. I'll take you there right now, if you want."

**_****_**

**_Base Hospital, Miramar Naval Air Station_**

Although Joyce Summers didn't show it, she was a very worried woman. After she'd been rescued from a vampire by Angel and hustled to a car that had been about to flee the scene, she hadn't seen Buffy, Xander, Willow or Oz.

When the car she'd been a passenger in had arrived at the military checkpoint setting up outside Sunnydale, the medics checking for injuries had decided that she needed to be evacuated and, after applying basic field medicine, had her on a stretcher and on a helicopter to the naval base within a matter of minutes. Just before the helicopter lifted off, she'd seen Oz's van pull up, and the four teenagers, along with Rupert, clamber out, their body language hopeless and defeated.

She'd wanted to go to them, to try to offer what comofort she could, but the medics had been politely firm. She was going to the hospital, they said. She could see her children and husband later, they told her.

She'd corrected them about Rupert being her husband, or... any other romantically-attached person, for that matter, but she hadn't said anything about the teenagers - including Buffy, of course - being her children. Xander, she'd already started to regard as the son she'd never had, but with Oz and Willow, it had been a more instinctive reaction.

After all, she'd _seen_ Oz's parents killed by vampires, and Willow's parents had been killed by the... whatever-it-was that the Mayor had become. She felt that she owed them something for being there for her daughter, for always supporting her, and this seemed like the best way to repay them, by being there for them when they needed someone.

She hadn't been overly surprised when Rupert told her that Willow and Oz were rooming together, but when he told her that Xander and Buffy were going to be sharing a room, her reaction had been surprise... and not a little worry. However, when Rupert described their expressions, the worry had evaporated - to be replaced with a different sort of concern.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" she'd asked, her concern showing.

Rupert removed his glasses and polished them, a sure sign that he was worried and needed a brief pause to organise his thoughts. "To be honest, Joyce, I have no idea."

A few minutes ago, she'd received a phone call from the base chaplain to let her know that he was on the way, along with Buffy and the three other teenagers she now all-but-regarded as 'hers'. She remembered the brief chat they'd had earlier in the morning, when she'd told him of her fears for the teens.

He'd thought for a moment, then said, "I won't lie to you, Mrs. Summers - those four young people will be deeply traumatised by what happened yesterday. From what Mister Giles has told me, it would seem that Buffy and Xander are taking this especially hard, and that they feel responsible for all of yesterday's deaths," Father Morrison said. "However, I feel that, with time and support from loved ones, they will recover. How much, it is too early to say as yet, but there _will_ be improvement," he added.

After the first sentence, Joyce had gasped in shock. After the third, the shock had abated, but she was still worried for the four teens, even though the worry was tempered with gratitude that recovery was possible.

"Thank you, Father," she'd said simply.

"Call me Jim," he'd corrected her. "I insist," he'd added when she'd looked like she was going to argue.

"Then I must insist that you call me Joyce," she'd returned, causing the priest to grin broadly.

"I _knew_ we'd get along famously," he said with a chortle. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a busy schedule ahead of me - my morning swim at the beach, followed by... well, helping your fellow townsfolk, to be honest," he'd added in a more serious tone of voice.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door to her room. "Excuse me, Joyce, but I've brought someone to see you."

Looking towards the door, she saw Jim standing in the doorway, wearing what he called his 'working' clothes - standard 'garrison' uniform, with the silver cross pins that marked him as a priest gleaming on his collar. "Come on in, Jim," she said, and he stepped into the room, then took a step to the side to allow the people behind him to enter the room.

First were Willow and Oz, their expressions speaking of intense personal pain, but they seemed to be drawing strength from the other. Behind them were Buffy and Xander, and _their_ expressions...

Joyce swallowed a gasp. If Willow and Oz were in emotional pain, then Buffy and Xander seemed to be locked in their own personal hell.

Willow and Oz were hand-in-hand, which came as no real surprise, but Buffy and Xander were... holding hands as well? But it seemed to be more like the actions of two scared and hurt children, rather than anything more serious, and Joyce's heart dropped another level.

_Oh, my poor children, would that you not have to live in a world that causes you such pain._

When Buffy saw the state of her mother's face, she gasped, and in the split-second before she rushed over to her mother's bedside - dragging Xander along for the ride, and nearly trampling Willow and Oz - Joyce had enough time to wish that the bruises on her face had subsided at bit, and as for the stitched-up gash that ran down one side of her face...

"Mom? Ohmigod, I'm so _sorry_, mom!" Buffy sobbed, grabbing Joyce in a hug more suited to a scared little girl than the Slayer. It was now that she let go of Xander's hand and, with the small part of her attention that wasn't absorbed by her daughter, she saw the young man sway, and if Rupert hadn't leapt to his feet and guided Xander into his chair, she honestly believed that he would have crumpled to the ground.

"Buffy... I'm fine, honestly. These look much worse than it really is, really," Joyce tried to calm down her daughter, but it took almost five minutes of solid reassuring to make Buffy believe it.

With Buffy marginally calmer - or quieter, at least - Joyce could now hear Xander's muttered mantra of "sorry... so sorry... my fault...", which almost had her in tears. Rupert, who was standing beside her bed, started blinking furiously, and Joyce could tell that he was on the verge of breaking down as well. The _pain_ in his voice...

"Xander?" she said. No response. "Xander, honey?" she repeated. _That_ got a response, in the form of Xander stopping muttering and looking up at her. The way he flinched when he saw her injuries, combined with the general expression of misery on his face, caused a giant hand to clench around her heart. Gently disentangling herself from Buffy's hug, she swung her legs around - and gasped when her feet touched the floor; it was _cold_, but Buffy misunderstood the reason for her sharply indrawn breath and it took a few minutes to persuade her that there was no pain involved - and climbed out of her bed, sitting down in the chair next to Xander.

For a moment, she sat in silence, wondering what to say, as she studied the young man's face. Deciding that there was no words that she could say to express the immense amount of sympathy she had for him, she simply wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

That caused him to break down, and he hugged her tightly, his tears soaking into the hospital-issue gown she wore. She didn't say anything, just rocking him gently back and forth in the same way she would do for a scared and hurt child - which was what he resembled at the moment. After a moment, Buffy sat down on the other side of Xander and hugged him as well, while in the background Oz held Willow tightly.

Mother and daughter's eyes met over Xander's bowed head, and Buffy's eyes widened slightly as she read her mother's determination to act as Xander's mother in Joyce's body language. A questioning tilt of Buffy's head was answered with a fractional nod, and Buffy somehow found extra reach to extend the hug to her mother as well.

The way Buffy's hands were trembling slightly when they touched Joyce's shoulders served to remind her that her daughter was going through her own pain as well - Rupert had told her of Angel's sacrifice.

She might not have liked Angel, and she might not have approved of their relationship, but the way Angel had lain down his life for her daughter had conclusively proven that he had loved Buffy. And now she had buried the pain that she had to be feeling in order to help Xander, but she had to let it out sooner or later, and why not now?

Catching Buffy's eye again, she released Xander with one hand, and indicated that Buffy should move her chair next to Joyce. After an inquiring raised eyebrow, she did so, and Joyce twisted her body - with Xander still holding on - and placed her free arm around Buffy's shoulders and hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry, dear," she said, and when Buffy looked at her inquisitively, she added, "About Angel."

That was all that was required for Buffy's self control to dissolve, and she started sobbing as well. "He's gone," she whispered brokenly as she sobbed. "He gave himself up for me."

Joyce didn't say a word, instead simply holding her daughter and the young man she'd come to regard as a son as they sobbed, fighting back tears herself.

It was then that she noticed a Marine officer standing in the doorway, gesturing for Rupert's attention, obviously not wanting to intrude. Rupert made his way to the officer's side, and after a brief whispered discussion, Rupert reappeared behind her and whispered, "The base commander wants me to brief the commanders of the units in position around Sunnydale, and now just arriving here. Will you be all right until I return?"

Joyce nodded, and whispered back without moving her head, as she didn't want to disturb the crying teens. "I'll manage, Rupert."

"I'll try not to be too long," he said, and left with the Marine officer, leaving her trying to concole the inconsolable.

**_****_**

**_Mass briefing room, Miramar Naval Air Station_**

The briefing room, intended to hold the pilots of a full Carrier Air Group, was starting to fill up as the officers from Three Corps and the activated California National Guard units began to take their places.

In the front row were the generals - the three-star in command of Three Corps, the two-star divisional commanders and deputy corps commander, and the one-star deputy divisional commanders. Behind them were the corps and divisional staff officers.

Behind _them_ were the brigade commanders and their staffs, and filling out the room were the battalion commanders and _their_ staffs.

Standing at the front of the room were the Three Corps intelligence and operations officers, who were clearly waiting for someone, and were starting to get nervous about it. Keeping generals waiting was widely regarded as being a _bad_ career move. Just then, a door at the side of the room opened, and Rupert Giles moved quickly to join the briefing officers, who now seemed slightly relieved.

Only slightly, because they _still_ had to deliver a briefing to an audience containing more stars than is normally seen outside the Pentagon, and although Giles had presented them with enough information to overcome their own doubts, they still had to convince the generals, who could be a tough crowd at the best of times.

"My apologies for my tardiness, gentlemen, but there was a... situation that required my attention." The generals' expressions cleared at this statement. By this time, the story of what had happened at Sunnydale had become common knowledge, along with the stories about the four teenagers that had arrived with Giles, especially the tales told by the refugees of them leading the fight, and their emotional condition when they had arrived at Miramar.

Call it 'shell shock', call it 'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder', but the generals had seen its effects, and in most cases, experienced it themselves.

After a brief pause to organise his notes, Giles stepped up to the podium, cleared his throat and began the briefing.

"Good morning, gentlemen. My name is Rupert Giles, and I will be presenting this briefing, on the subject of... the supernatural."

This statement earned a few derisive snorts from the younger officers at the back, but the generals at the front looked interested. Giles noticed this, and said, "May I assume from your expressions, Generals, that you have encountered this sort of situation before?"

"Not this sort of situation, Mister Giles, no," the general commanding Three Corps said, his Southern drawl contrasting with Giles' English accent. "But when I was a battalion commander in Vietnam, some weird stuff happened."

His battalion had been assigned an area of operations near Da Nang, with orders to stamp out Viet Cong activity. For the first few weeks, things had gone relatively normal, then some VC prisoners had been brought in, gibbering with shock about 'Phantoms of the Jungle'.

"Hang on," another general interjected. "I thought the VC said that about the Aussie SAS?"

"They did," the three-star replied, "and with some fear and respect as well. But these guys were... terrified." He still remembered the expression on their faces vividly, even after thirty years. "They were almost _glad_ to be captured."

He'd sent a platoon to investigate the area, and they'd... vanished. Alarmed now, he'd sent more troops to investigate, and they'd found a perplexing sight.

"No bodies, no bloodstains, but a shit-load of empty cartridge casings. They got out of there in a hurry, and I wasn't too bothered, either. Hell, if I'd been there, I probably would have bugged out as fast as my legs could carry me.

"So, you see, Mister Giles, we're willing to believe what most people would think of as the unbelievable."

Another general spoke up. "Is this to do with what happened in Sunnydale yesterday?" he asked.

Giles nodded to the intelligence officer, who clicked a button on the remote held in his hand. The lights in the room dimmed slightly as a flatscreen monitor lowered itself at the front of the room. "Partially, General," he said, "but more to do with the overall situation regarding the existence of supernatural creatures in general, as your military seems to be about to join the fight against them."

The intelligence officer said, "This first piece of footage was recorded by the ABC network yesterday afternoon." On the screen, a test signal appeared, followed by the footage which had shocked a nation the day before.

First was the shot of the column of cars fleeing Sunnydale, and then the footage cut to an image of the mayor-demon as it rampaged through Sunnydale. The intelligence officer clicked the button again, and the image of the mayor-demon froze. Giles took over the briefing. "That, gentlemen, was a pure-breed demon. The original plan for defeating it involved luring it into Sunnydale High School, which was wired with explosives, and then detonating those explosives. Unfortunately, the explosives failed to detonate, and yesterday's... carnage was the direct result." Giles removed his glasses and gave them a quick polish before replacing them.

One of the brigade commanders spoke up. "Mister Giles, it is true that the plan was developed by one of the teenagers you arrived here with yesterday?"

Giles nodded. "Yes, that is true. The young man who came up with the plan is named Alexander Harris. I believe the reason that the explosives did not detonate was that the demon had damaged the wiring."

Virtually _all_ of the officers nodded at that. Murphy's Law could bite you on the arse at any time. When that resulted in the loss of lives, however, guilt and remorse were the inevitable results.

But that was part of their chosen profession, and although not every officer had experienced that before, they knew that if it did, there was help available for them to deal with it. For a teenager, however...

"I can assume that he is taking this badly?" one of the division commanders asked.

"You may," Giles replied. "His emotional state can be best described as... catatonic. In fact he barely responds to external stimulus, and when he does, it can be best described as a break-down," he concluded, somewhat sadly.

The intelligence officer stepped forward, in an effort to get the briefing back on track. He clicked the button a third time, and the test signal replaced the image of the mayor-demon. "This footage has been taken from the gun camera of one of the Tomcats from the Eighty-Fourth Fighter Squadron, better known as the 'Jolly Roger' squadron, in particular the lead aircraft, callsign 'Jolly Lead'."

The test signal vanished once more, this time to be replaced with a higher-angle shot. Running down both sides of the screen was various technical information, which was ignored as being irrelevant to the situation, and in the centre was the demon, surrounded by the aiming mark of the weapons systems.

The intelligence officer clicked the button for the fourth time, and the footage started to roll. Radio chatter from the pilots was audible, but the officers didn't pay too much attention, until the last radio call of, "On my mark, drop now-now-_now_." On the screen, a pair of black dots appeared, and raced towards the demon.

Twenty-two other dots joined it, and in quick succession, rained down on the demon. In less than a second, the screen was lit up by a series of blinding flashes as the bombs detonated, and when the screen cleared, all that was visible was a large smoking crater, with the houses nearest to it little more than rubble.

Of the demon, there was no sign.

"Well, that seems to be that," the commander of Three Corps said with some satisfaction. "Now, if we can get on to the part about sending the troops into Sunnydale, we'll-"

"I'm afraid that that's _not_ that, General," Giles interrupted - politely, to be sure, but still interrupting, while behind him, the two officers blanched slightly and seemed to be silently praying.

The three-star general glared at Giles for a moment, then suddenly broke out into a grin. "That took serious balls, son. I respect that. Now tell me _why_ 'that is not that'," he ordered.

Giles snorted, an action suited more to 'Ripper' than to the librarian-persona. "Frankly, General, after what I've faced for the last three years, an annoyed military officer - who I don't answer to in any way - is the least of my worries. As to the second part of your question, though..."

He proceeded to give a brief description of past events, starting with how demons had been the original inhabitants of Earth, and had been driven from the planet. He told of how vampires were created, and of the 'Hellmouth', the nexus of mystical energy that was a point of weakness between dimensions.

He told of the Slayer, how she was a young woman given the speed and strength to fight the forces of darkness, and the Council of Watchers, and their mission to guide and train the Slayer. The faces of the officers darkened as he told of the tradition of the Slayer fighting alone, and only military discipline kept them from a near-riot when Giles described the Cruciamentum.

"Don't you realise how... _obscene_ that is, _Mister_ Giles?" the corps commander spat, taking full advantage of the privileges granted to one of his rank.

"I am fully aware of that, General," Giles replied, a little sadly. "In fact, the reason I was dismissed from my position because I refused to put Buffy through the Cruciamentum. The Council member sent to administer the test kidnapped Buffy's mother to blackmail her into participating."

"BASTARD!" the corps commander roared. "All right, Mister Giles, where do we find that spineless piece of shit?"

The prospect of Quentin Travers waking up one morning with the muzzles of automatic weapons held to his head, and armoured vehicles parked on his front lawn was an appealing one, but for one nasty piece of reality... "In England, General," Giles said.

All the wind went out of the general's sails. "Oh," was his only response.

"Sir," his deputy pointed out, "we can still arrange for something nasty to happen to him. We'd just need to involve the Brits, that's all."

A feral grin returned to the corps commanders face. "Excellent," he said. "But first things first. Continue, Mister Giles."

"Very well, General. I'd like to add that, initially, I was opposed to Buffy accepting help in her Slayer duties, but as time progressed and her friends proved their worth, I was more willing to accept their aid."

He then went on to describe Buffy's career as the Slayer, her battles with an ancient vampire known only as 'The Master' - with the help of her friends - after her victory in preventing the Harvest, how she'd died at his hands before being resurrected by Xander, and how she'd eventually defeated him.

He described her affair with Angel, the souled vampire who used to be known as Angelus, the scourge of Europe, and his return after Buffy gave him 'a moment of happiness' - he didn't go into detail there.

"What?" the corps commander asked, perplexed. "She's the Vampire Slayer, right? So what was she doing in a relationship with a vampire?"

"At first, she was unaware of his vampiric status," Giles said, a little uncomfortable. "You see, when most vampires encounter the Slayer, their first instinct is to attack - quite possibly as a pre-emptive measure in an attempt to ensure their own survival - and, as Angel did not immediately attack, she thought that he wasn't a vampire.

"By the time she discovered that he was a vampire, she was infatuated with him. After all, Slayers are _teenage_ girls," he said blithely, which drew rueful chuckles from those officers with teenage daughters. "And Angel is... was... special. His soul has been restored to him. You see, vampires are essentially soulless demons inhabiting a dead body, but during his time as Angelus, he killed a member of a Romany clan, and they cursed him with his soul, so that he would feel guilt for all that he had done."

"And I thought Sicilians were the ones for revenge," the corps commander said lightly, then he frowned as something occurred to him. "But if he was cursed with his soul, how did he lose it again? Oh, and why did you say he 'was' special?"

"There was an 'escape clause' in the curse. If he ever stopped feeling guilt, if he ever achieved a 'moment of perfect happiness', then the curse would be broken, and Angelus would be loose again. To answer the second part of your question... he sacrificed himself, acting as rearguard so that Buffy and Xander could escape. In fact he had to render Xander unconscious before they would leave."

The assembled officers nodded again, realising the reason for the rumoured emotional states of the two teenagers. When someone sacrifices themselves so you can be safe, it tends to have a profound effect.

Something else occurred to the corps commander. "Why was there an escape clause at all, then? Surely, the Romanies would realise what would happen if Angel ever achieved happiness. You'd think they'd want him to suffer."

"We only found out about the escape clause after the fact and, of course, by then it was too late. And the reason for the escape clause was never explained to my satisfaction," Giles said, and his voice caught slightly.

The corps commander noticed that, but decided to let it go. "Then what?"

Giles resumed the story with The Judge, and the measures taken to defeat him. That caused the corps commander to interrupt again. "WHAT? You mean to say that this young man managed to talk his way into the Sunnydale Armoury and walk off with a rocket launcher?"

He turned in his seat to glare at the highest-ranking National Guard officer in the room. "I trust that security had been improved since then, and those responsible were punished for the laxity," he growled.

The National Guard officer looked miserable, but nodded. "When the weapon was found missing, the Duty Officer, the Duty Sergeant and the gate sentry at the time were all court-martialled. As far as I know, the officer and the sergeant are still serving their jail time, while the sentry served his time, and was given a Dishonourable Discharge."

The corps commander nodded decisively. "So long as it doesn't happen again," he said, still growling.

Giles told of the arrival of a second Slayer, Kendra McPherson, who had been called when Buffy had died at the hands of The Master. "Apparently, Buffy had been dead for long enough for a new Slayer to be Called before Xander revived her," Giles said. He told of Kendra's death at the hands of Drusilla, an insane vampire who had arrived in Sunnydale that year, along with her childe Spike.

Continuing the story, telling of Acathla, and Angelus' attempt to use it to open a portal to Hell, and how he was stopped by Buffy... and by Willow's restoring his soul.

"Willow? She's the red-haired young woman that arrived with you, right? And you say that she can use magic?" the scepticism in the corps commander's voice was a near-solid thing.

Giles shrugged. "If you like, I can arrange a demonstration later, when she's feeling a little more... emotionally stable," he said, in a tone of voice that indicated that he wasn't particularly bothered by the general's lack of belief.

"I may take you up on that," the corps commander replied.

Resuming the story, Giles told about how Buffy tried to escape her destiny, but was unable to. He told of the arrival of Faith Williams who had been pursued across the country by a Master Vampire named Kakistos, who had killed Faith's first Watcher. "To my shame, I did not pay enough attention to the young lady. If I had, I may have averted the tragic events which followed."

Angel returned from Hell, which caused strain among the group. The corps commander wanted to know _how_, to which Giles could only say, "We never found out."

Buffy's Cruciamentum was the next major event to happen, along with Giles being fired as Buffy's Watcher - which caused a stir of anger among the officers - and Buffy's rebelling against the Council of Watchers, which resulted in a smothered-before-it-was-really-born cheer.

There was the Sisterhood of Jhe's attempt to open the Hellmouth, and then the event that would see Faith turn to darkness. She accidentally killed the deputy mayor of Sunnydale, Alan Finch.

"_Was_ it an accident?" the corps commander asked.

"As best as I was able to determine, yes. Apparently, Finch approached Faith after she and Buffy had fought a large group of vampires and was still somewhat edgy," Giles said.

"Damn unfortunate," the corps commander said, then shrugged. "But as they say, 'shit happens'." That was a sentiment that was agreed with by all of the officers present. Accidents happened. Mistakes happened. 'Friendly Fire' and 'blue-on-blue' were the official terms, while the soldiers called it a 'we fucked up _bad_' incident.

"However, Faith didn't see it that way, and I must admit that Buffy's attitude did not help matters. Before that time, we had picked up reports that 'something big' was going to happen, and when Faith started working for the mayor, we came to the conclusion that he was the one responsible for the increase in demonic activity," Giles said.

"Shame about that. Is she still alive? Do you think she can be helped?"

"She and Buffy fought on a couple of occasions, which culminated in Buffy stabbing Faith and putting her into a coma. To the best of my knowledge, the hospital is still intact. And to answer the second part of your question... I don't know.

"The rest, as they say, is history."

The intelligence officer brought the lights back up to their regular brightness and said, "Generals, if you have no questions, that concludes this portion of the briefing."

The corps deputy commander raised his hand. "I do have one question for Mister Giles. Do you have physical evidence backing up what you say?"

Giles nodded. "Prior to Graduation, the documents that were previously stored in the school library were moved to my apartment. Unfortunately, since Sunnydale has not been... 'secured', to use your terminology, I am unable to gain access to them."

The intelligence officer stepped forward. "Acting on advice from Mister Giles," he said, "the Predator drones were reprogrammed and re-equipped to be able to take infrared imagery at night, along with the standard light-amplification imagery." He dimmed the lights again, and clicked another button on the remote he held.

An image of one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries appeared, obviously taken at night, as evidenced by the greenish tinge to the image. "You can quite clearly see this group of individuals, here, in the centre of the image." He pressed the button again, and the image shifted to showing black, white and tones of grey. "With infrared imagery, the individuals appear to be only one degree above ambient temperature," he said, before pausing and scanning the room to ensure that what he said next sunk in. "That is _impossible_. Any human with body termperature that low would have died long before their body temperature reached that level. To put it simply, for all intents and purposes, these individuals are dead people walking. This fits in with Mister Giles' descriptions of vampires as animated corpses.

"Other imagery shows individuals with similar thermal profiles attacking what appears to be animals, from their thermal profile. _This_ fits in with Mister Giles' description of vampires requiring blood to survive.

"Both scenes have been repeated throughout Sunnydale, which means that this is not unique imagery. There is a pattern."

"What of the hospital?" the corps commander asked, convinced almost despite himself.

"The... vampires seem unable to gain access, sir," the intelligence officer replied. "We have been able to establish contact with the staff, and they have sufficient supplies of food and medicine to last for the next few days."

"Why can't the vampires enter the hospital?" the corps commander asked.

Giles stepped forward to field this question. "Vampires are unable to enter a place of residence unless invited, General," he said, and held up his hand to forestall the follow-up question he knew was going to be asked. "I know, hospitals aren't places of residence. But, if you follow the same criteria, neither are hotels rooms, and vampires are unable to gain access to those either."

"So, we might have more survivors at Sunnydale's hotels, then?"

The intelligence officer took his turn at bat. "I'm afraid not, sir, as both of Sunnydale's hotels were destroyed by the demon. There may be survivors trapped in the rubble, but we are unable to make sure of that until that area of Sunnydale has been secured."

There seemed to be no further requirement for visual aids, so the intelligence officer brought the light back up and repeated his earlier question regarding questions. "In that case, generals, this portion of the briefing is concluded," the intelligence officer said, taking a step back.

At a nod from the operations officer, Giles stepped forward again and said, "This portion of the briefing will describe specific methods required to eliminate a vampire, and the equipment that is available currently and under research to achieve those aims."

The operations officer stepped forward and said, "According to the information received from Mister Giles, normal small-arms are ineffective against vampire, with the possible exception of tracer ammunition. Until a suitable type of ammunition can be devised, all small-arms ammunition issued will be tracer rounds. Also, all troops involved in anti-vampire operations will be issued with white phosphorous grenades, in order to incinerate vampires.

"Illumination rounds from grenade launchers may also prove effective, once they have been suitably modified."

"What do you mean by modified?" the corps commander asked.

"Removing the parachute, increasing the muzzle velocity, and decreasing the time until flare ignition, sir. However, the downside of using illumination rounds is that the flare is too bright, ruining soldiers' night vision, and washing out the diplay in night-fighting equipment. The reduction of the brightness of illumination rounds is also a priority."

"There seems to be an emphasis on night-fighting, Colonel," the corps commander said.

"That is true, sir, as vampires are most active during the night. Although the plans currently under evaluation call for around-the-clock operations, we recognise that the bulk of operations will take place at night, and have planned accordingly."

The corps commander turned to Giles and said, "What other ways are there to kill vampires?"

"Sunlight - although vampires know better than to venture into daylight - wooden stakes through the heart, and decapitation - although, given a vampire's speed and strength advantages, these methods are not recommended," Giles replied.

"What about wooden rounds?"

The operations officer took that question. "That is also under consideration, sir, although there are problems such as propellant ignition setting fire to the projectile or fragmenting the round in the barrel, and the heat of the weapon's barrel due to repeated firing setting fire to the projectile as it travels through the barrel."

"I trust that there are proposed solutions to those problems?"

"Yes, sir, starting with a metal baseplate for the projectile, to prevent fragmentation and propellant ignition setting fire to the round. At present, there is no workable solution for the other problem, but it is anticipated that this problem will be solved as well."

"Good," the corps commander said, then looked at his watch. "At thirteen-hundred hours, all corps staff will commence planning for the securing of Sunnydale. Once that it complete, division and brigade staffs, will commence their planning for their parts of the operation." He paused and looked around. "You have one hour for lunch - that is, if any of you still have your appetites."


End file.
